


Broken Promises

by Arwriter



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Whump, Brothers, Dutch is a fantastic dad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Except like no comfort, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, hurt Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: With tensions already high in the cold air of Beaver Hollow, Arthur should have known better than to test Dutch's patience. He just never expected the man who raised him to turn his back on the promise that had always been the most important.





	Broken Promises

Arthur heard the sound more than he felt the pain, the shock drowning out what would likely become agony judging by the way the impact sent him crashing to his knees. 

He could already feel it pulsing, a deep, painful throb of the forming bruise. Hot tears came to his eyes, but it wasn’t from the pain. 

Slowly, he raised a hand to his face, flinching when fingers met skin, the pain immediately spiking at the delicate touch. He wouldn’t be able to hide the bruise. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

He didn’t want to look up, terrified the lingering anger in the eyes of the man staring down at him would be enough to break his fragile walls, the hastily built barricade keeping him from breaking down. 

But he couldn’t stop himself, a small spark of anger winning over fear, and Arthur lifted his head from Dutch’s boots just enough to see the older man’s face. 

All the fury had faded in the split second it took Arthur to hit the ground, for the crack of flesh against flesh to silence the tent. 

They’d been arguing again. It seemed every conversation lead to another fight when he tried to talk to Dutch, the man’s mood and paranoia even worse than it had been back in Shady Belle. 

And Arthur had been tired. Of all of it. He was exhausted and hurt and scared and he’d let it go too far. He’d mentioned all the people Dutch had gotten killed. He’d brought up Hosea. 

He should have known better. Dutch had every right to be on edge, to be preoccupied with how much was on his shoulders. 

But he just wouldn’t  _ listen.  _ It was like his head was buried in the sand, like he’d rolled over and allowed Micah to pull his strings, accepting every false thought put in his once brilliant mind. 

All he’d wanted was for Dutch to open his eyes, to remember how things used to be and listen to Arthur again. Listen to anyone who wasn’t Micah. 

Arthur had never been afraid of Dutch before. He’d never had to be. Dutch would never hurt him. It had been the first of too many promises. 

But now here he was, shivering violently on his knees in Dutch’s tent, the man he considered a father standing over him, and Arthur could only tense and wait for the beating to continue. 

He kept Dutch in his sight, waiting, careful not to look the man in the eye. It had been years since he’d given it any thought, but he knew too well that meeting his gaze was a death sentence. It had always been that way with Lyle. 

Dutch’s hand was trembling, fingers twitching, the man still as a statue. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, like time had come screeching to a stop. 

And then, gradually, he raised his hand to press over his mouth, eyes wide in disbelief, silently shaking his head. 

“Arthur, I--” 

Arthur couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of his voice, taking a moment to register just how quiet and broken it was. He said nothing, eyes dropping to the ground, Beaver Hollow’s frigid air suddenly feeling much more cold and unforgiving.

“Arthur...god, I’m so sorry, son.” 

_ Son.  _ He’d been Lyle’s son. 

Dutch had always called him son, a term of endearment, a reminder they were family. A way to keep him loyal, a scared little boy, head filled with promises too good to be true. 

And that scared little boy had grown into a man with nothing left but his family, with nothing of himself but the promises that had never come true, worth nothing but the praise of the man who had just gone against the first words he had spoken. 

It was like he could see the pedestal he’d held Dutch on begin to crumble, falling apart before his eyes, shattering along with his unconditional trust. 

Even just a year ago, he might have shrugged this off, allowed himself to believe he deserved it, that Dutch had every excuse available to lash out.

But now, he couldn’t bring himself to think that way. Not when the man before him had turned into everything he’d promised he would never become. 

“Arthur.” Dutch was crouched in front of him, Arthur still refusing to take his eyes off the ground, some part of him still convinced there was another hit coming. “Arthur, look at me. Please.” 

It sounded so much like begging, like desperation, just one more thing he’d never expected from Dutch. But he found himself raising his head, still unable to refuse an order. 

When he looked up, the first thing he noticed was that Dutch’s eyes were bloodshot, brimming with unshed tears. Like he was the victim. Like he hadn’t been the one to lead them here. 

Dutch’s brow furrowed, eyes moving to Arthur’s cheek, face falling when he saw the damage he’d done. “I...I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. Everything’s just…” 

He trailed off, seeming to realize Arthur had no reaction, barely even registering the fact Dutch was talking. 

His hand was suddenly grazing the side of his face, and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat, Dutch moving to carefully cup his jaw. Another time, the gesture would have been comforting. 

Now he had to force himself not to pull away. 

“Jesus, Arthur,” he muttered. “You...you know I’d never hurt you, right?” 

If Arthur wasn’t seconds away from breaking down, he might have laughed. He wanted to scream. The pain was growing worse as the shock ebbed away, an awful pounding in his cheek. 

He wondered if Dutch felt guilty, or if he was just thinking about the loyalty he was already worried Arthur was losing. 

“Son--” 

“I know,” Arthur said, hating himself for it, wishing he had the courage to tell Dutch the truth, to scream and yell, to fight to get the man to open his damn eyes. 

But now, he just wanted to get out of the tent. Not for the first time, he wished Hosea was here. He wondered what the older man would say if he could see the bruise on Arthur’s face. He wondered if anyone still alive would care. 

Dutch frowned, seeming to expect Arthur to say more, shoulders dropping with a tired sigh when there was nothing but silence. 

“Good,” he said, voice dropping. “Things are...things are tense right now but we  _ will  _ make it through this. I promise you that. But I need you to have faith, son. I need you to stay by my side.” 

And just like that, it was Arthur’s fault. Again. He hadn’t had enough trust in Dutch, hadn’t kept his head down and followed orders blindly like he’d been expected to. He’d pushed Dutch too far. 

“Ok.” He finally pulled away, Dutch’s hand dropping limply. “Can I go?” 

It was curt and emotionless, probably the last thing Dutch had expected. There was a beat of heavy silence before the older man nodded, rising back to his full height. 

He offered a hand which Arthur accepted, despite how desperately he wanted to refuse the unwanted help. His legs felt weak and wobbling, and he stumbled once, Dutch grabbing his shoulder before he could turn to the tent’s exit. 

“We’ll get there, son.” Dutch’s words, once an assurance of comfort, were now like ice. “I promise. Just stay with.” 

Arthur nodded, not sure what else he could do but agree. “Sure, Dutch.” 

Dutch release his hold, letting Arthur turn and make his way to the closed tent flap, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his own bed and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

“Arthur,” Dutch called, hesitating when the younger man turned back. He put a hand to his own face, fingers hovering where Arthur’s bruise would be. “Might want to find a way to cover that up.” 

Anger threatened to resurface, overshadowed by sorrow, grief for the man he knew he’d lost long ago. 

He said nothing, turning away and pushing himself into the open air with no intention of hiding the already worsening bruise. The way the camp was acting lately, he doubted most people would even notice. 

“Arthur?” 

He didn’t stop, stalking towards his tent, ignoring John’s voice behind him. Of course, the kid had been watching Dutch’s tent like a hawk since Arthur had disappeared inside, their argument no doubt having been heard by half the camp. 

“Arthur!” There was a hand on his arm and Arthur spun around, every pent up emotion he’d kept locked away under Dutch’s scrutinizing gaze suddenly bubbling to the surface. 

_ “What,  _ John?” 

Anger flashed in the younger man’s eyes, fury Arthur was too drained to even begin dealing with, dissipating the moment his eyes landed on Arthur’s cheekbone. 

He felt his face go red, shame he’d dreaded feeling piling up all at once, John’s eyes boring into him, hand dropping back to his side.

“What...what the fuck happened to your face?” 

It came out harsher than John had probably intended, nothing but shock and fear in his eyes, terrified of hearing what he already knew was the truth. 

And Arthur wasn’t sure he knew how to say it. Lying seemed to come too easy to all of them lately. “O’driscolls. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

“O’driscolls,” John echoed. “In the last five minutes.” 

He’d forgotten how closely John had been watching him lately, especially when he was speaking to Dutch alone. Of course, he’d seen Arthur walk into the tent, face untouched, leaving moments later with an angry bruise across his cheek. 

And apparently, Arthur’s silence was all John needed to confirm his suspicion, anger returning in the blink of an eye. 

“That son of a  _ bitch!”  _

He started for Dutch’s tent, Arthur just managing to grab his jacket and yank him back. “John--” 

“The fuck’s wrong with him?” he demanded. “Jesus, he treats you like shit for weeks and then he  _ hits  _ you?” 

“Will you keep your damn voice down? It’s fine, ok? We...we figured it out.” 

John scoffed, and against his better judgment, Arthur felt the familiar protective flame light up in his chest, the overwhelming need to rush to Dutch’s defense. 

“He’s going through a lot,” he said, the words pointless to his own ears. “Everything that’s happened...I mean, he has the right to--” 

“To  _ what?”  _ John snapped. “To hit the man he raised as a son? That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“John--” 

“And here you are, still taking his damn side like always.” 

Arthur said nothing, and the camp regressed into heavy silence. There were eyes on them, gang members glancing their way, and he knew Dutch would easily be able to hear from his tent if he bothered to listen. 

He knew it wouldn’t matter. In the gang’s eyes, Arthur was already as good as dead. He was weak and sickly. He was a traitor. It didn’t matter what Dutch had done, they would take their leader’s side. It was their only chance at surviving. 

“I’m going out,” Arthur said, already starting towards his horse. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

He could still feel John’s eyes on him, watching his every move. “Are you coming back?” 

Arthur slowed, fingers hovering above the reins tied to the hitching post, the throbbing of his face growing close to unbearable. He hadn’t realized Dutch had hit him so hard. 

There was no doubt in his mind that before this was over, the gang would be significantly smaller. Not everyone was stupid enough to die for Dutch’s dreams. 

He wanted to leave. He  _ should  _ leave. He was dying anyway, he should die in peace. John would say he owed Dutch nothing, that he had only an obligation to his own safety, both of them knowing it was a desperate lie. 

“Yeah,” he said, unhitching and mounting his horse. “I’ll be back.” 

He’d always be back, no matter how many red flags or warnings were thrown his way. Arthur would see this through to the end, just like he’d promised. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
